


mysterio science theatre 3000!

by ursulamerkle



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Aged-Up Peter Parker, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Hypnotism, Illusions, M/M, NOTHING IS AS IT SEEMS, No Proofreading We Die Like Men, Spider-man: Far From Home - Freeform, Spoilers, Trust No Bitch, hot wade wilson, will add tags as needed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2020-06-26 21:37:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19776919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ursulamerkle/pseuds/ursulamerkle
Summary: Peter Parker works at a coffee shop.Wade Wilson walks into a coffee shop.The world is never the same!...literally, it’s not the same. Something’s wrong. Help us?





	1. where it all begins

**Author's Note:**

> hello everyone! i have fallen into a spideypool and i can’t get up. have some stuff that i thought of after i saw far from home. so spoilers for that i guess. also peter is in college in this fic, though it’s not referenced until around chapter 4, so in advance pls get off my dick. love u. <3 happy reading y’all strap in for some spideypool shenans

The chimes on the door of the coffee shop jingled sweetly as Wade Wilson pushed open the door with his shoulder. He kept his head down, his hood up, and his eyes on his phone screen. God forbid anyone see his face in _this_ part of the neighborhood, with its floor-to-ceiling windows and its rooftop gardens and its overpaid nannies. All the hot, bendy, spin-classy housewives would collectively shit their Lululemon leggings.

He must look suspicious as all hell. He cast a glance at his reflection in the window. Nothing out of the ordinary. He looked a little tired though, bags under his eyes and five o’clock shadow on his jaw, his eyebrows drawn in tight—

_Eyebrows?_

Wade did a double take. And then a triple take. And then a quadruple take (thanks, Sir Patrick Stewart!). If he had been drinking something, he would have spat it out right into the freshly cleaned glass.

Eyebrows. Wait. Why was that weird…?

He looked at himself again. He looked fine. More than fine, really. 

Foine. With an _o_ for emphasis.

He lowered his hood, carefully, and frowned. He scrubbed a hand through his short hair, pausing in thought.

“Jesus, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning,” he muttered, shaking off the feeling of unfamiliarity settling on his shoulders. “No more Pink Moscato Wednesdays for you, champ.”

Wade turned to the counter, about to step up to the register to order, when he was stopped in his tracks by the most gorgeous piece of ass he had ever seen.

The barista behind the counter was bent over, nearly in half (he mentally filed that masterpiece of an image away in his mind palace) (AKA his spank bank), his ass in the air for not nearly long enough before he was turning around and looking up at Wade.

Wade's eyes snapped up to the barista’s face. If he wasn’t already fantasizing about him (he was), he _definitely_ was now. 

He was seriously _cute_ . He had big brown eyes like a sad puppy in an SPCA commercial and _yes please_ Wade would like to take him home! and tousled brown hair and he was one of the only people Wade had ever seen look good in an apron. Beside himself.

Wade could have been dreaming, but he thought the barista was staring at him, too.

_God, we missed being hot._

“Hi,” he said, smiling up at Wade. “What can I get you?”

Wade flashed him his most Colgate Optic White smile and leaned forward on the countertop.

_Better take advantage of these devilishly good looks while you still got ‘em, pal._

“Well,” Wade started slowly, “I came in here thinking I’d order a coffee but now I’m wondering if you’re on the menu?”

Ooh. Wade’s voice was doing that thing where it got all low and sultry and he couldn’t lie, sometimes it gave _him_ a bit of a boner.

Meanwhile, the barista was staring at him, looking a little like something had short-circuited in his brain. It was a cute look on him, but Wade much preferred his sexual partners non-comatose.

Then, he spoke, but all he managed to say was, “um.”

“Whoopsie,” Wade said guiltily, “did I break you already? I meant for us to have some fun first, maybe break you once I got you in my bed, but you’re so pretty I got a little carried away.”

The barista— _Peter,_ his nametag read—was getting redder by the second.

Wade raised his eyebrows. “The silent treatment? That’s cold. Although I gotta hand it to you,” his voice dropped low again and he wiggled his eyebrows, “it’s working for me.”

Peter, who looked like the distant relative of a tomato at this point, finally cracked.

“Could you—stop?”

Sure, the moment would have been more climactic had Peter’s voice been more than an embarrassed squeak—

_Oh my God. Cuteness overload, I’m dead. RIP Wade’s inner monologue (1991 - 2019), he lived a good life_

—but it caught Wade off guard enough for him to pull back.

“Christ. I’m sorry,” Wade apologized, a hand going to the back of his neck. He took a breath. 

“I overstepped. I shouldn’t take advantage of the kindness of stupidly cute baristas who are only smiling at me because that’s their job,” he finished, self-conscious laughter riding on his voice.

_Yuck. Vulnerability._

Peter blinked at him. “Um. Thank you.”

“For the compliment or the apology?” Wade asked, snapping back into his comfortable routine. “Either way, I’ll take it. Anyway, geez, where the fuck are my manners? Let’s start over.”

Wade stuck a hand out over the counter.

“Hi, I’m Wade Winston Wilson, and I’m usually _way_ worse than this.” He grinned at Peter. “Nice to meet you.”

Peter looked at his hand and then back up at Wade before opening his mouth and saying, “your name is Wade Winston Wilson?”

Wade nodded proudly. “And before you ask because I know you wanna, yes, my parents hated me.”

“Not to be an asshole or anything, but I understand why,” Peter said dryly, and no sooner than he had said it were his eyes widening with horror at how majorly he’d crossed the line.

Wade, however, _roared_ with laughter.

It was almost startlingly loud. Wade doubled over, slapped the counter, had to wipe tears out of his eyes as his laughter died down to giggles and small sighs.

“Holy _shit,”_ Wade said, high-pitched and breathless as he came down, “that was good. Jesus, Petey, you were holdin’ out on me!”

“You’re not pissed,” Peter said dumbly. It wasn’t a question, more of a surprised remark.

“ _Pissed?”_ Wade asked incredulously. “Of course not, I love a good roast _._ I pretty much need to be knocked down a peg at all times,” he confessed. “Besides, if I tattled on you, what would I even say? _Hi, I aggressively hit on one of your baristas, repeatedly insinuating that he was asking for it, and then he said something mean which, by the way, I totally deserved so please fire him?_ No.”

Peter looked at Wade quizzically.

“Double besides,” Wade shrugged, “why would I wanna get you fired? I would very much like to keep coming back here and trying to wear you down. Because you are fucking adorable.”

Peter was silent for a long moment, and Wade thought he saw the ghost of a smile on his pretty face. Just as Wade thought _maybe_ he was about to hit him back with some flirty banter, the bells on the door jingled and Peter looked shaken out of a trance. 

“Uh, what can I get you?” he said suddenly.

“Shit, right,” Wade reached for his wallet, “Lemme get a large caramel frappuccino. With extra whip.”

Peter punched it in, only giving him a very brief Look. “...anything else?”

“Nope. I'm ordering a girly drink and I'm goddamn proud of it,” Wade declared, slapping his card down on the counter.

“O-kay,” Peter said pointedly, laughing a little.

Hoping there was more where that came from, Wade chased Peter’s laugh with another joke. “Hey, just ‘cause I order from the Sorority Sisters secret menu doesn’t mean I can't bench press three of you.”

Peter looked at him, eyeing his biceps sheepishly and not subtly at all. “I, uh, I believe you,” he replied, not looking Wade in the eyes.

Wade grinned like a shark.

Peter cleared his throat. “Can I get a name for that order?”

“Gasp!” Wade gasped, “I’m hurt, Peter.”

“Force of habit, sorry,” Peter replied quickly, covering for himself. For good measure, as he wrote his name, he said it out loud. 

“Wade... _Winston_ …Wilson.”

Wade smiled at Peter and, deceptively casual, he added, “but you can call me Daddy.”

Peter dropped the cup on the floor.

Wade smiled cheerfully. “Oops!”

His face turning an incredible shade of red, Peter bent down to pick it up, then threw it in the trash and grabbed a new one. His eyes fixed on the cup, Peter scribbled Wade’s name on it hurriedly before giving him one last embarrassed and definitely irritated glance, and heading for the kitchen door.

“I hate it when you go, but I love it when you walk away,” Wade crooned at his back. He very obviously bent over the countertop to watch him. 

Just as Peter disappeared through the door to the kitchen, Wade called after him, “please don’t forget the extra whip unless you wanna see a grown man cry today!”

_You scared him off, you big asshole. Now who are we gonna team up with?_

“If you don’t shut up I will turn this car around,” Wade snapped, as quietly as he could manage. He stood by the other side of the counter and scrolled on Instagram while he waited for his drink.

Aw. Ryan Reynolds wished a happy birthday to Jake Gyllenhaal by posting a picture with Hugh Jackman. 

Wade laughed and shook his head. Those guys.

And then someone was coming out of the back and making his drink and it was not Peter.

 _Yikes. Can’t even get the guy when you_ don’t _look like the poster child for anti-vaxxers._

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Wade hissed quietly. His inner monologue was being decidedly weird today.

Instead of Peter, it was a girl with earbuds in. He watched her make his drink, only slightly disappointed. She called his name and read off his order—remembering the extra whip—and slid Wade his drink, looking bored, before sauntering off.

_Bitch._

“Hey. Not nice.” Wade took an angry sip of his drink, reaching for a paper cup cover to keep his hand from getting all wet. 

As he slipped it on, he saw it.

Scrawled in Sharpie on the side of the plastic cup, a phone number.

Wade's grin nearly split his face in half.

“Yep,” he mused. “Still got it.”

_Oh, fuck off and do a POV switch already._


	2. the aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had a lot of this mostly written but then it went through 4 or 5 rewrites and honestly i’m not even sure if it’s coherent anymore but i’m posting it anyway because otherwise i never will! enjoy part 2 from peter’s perspective

12:42 PM

Unknown Number

**_so do u give out ur number to every full 10 who walks into ur coffee shop??_ **

Peter stared at his phone, mouth slightly agape and hands slightly shaky. He had written down his phone number on the cup and he still couldn’t believe he’d done it.

When he came in the back with the replacement cup, his cheeks still burning, he had passed it off to MJ like a hot potato while giving her the short version of what had happened—something along the lines of _unfairly hot, also infuriatingly annoying and kind of disgusting but did I mention he’s_ hot?!

What he didn’t mention was the strange feeling in his gut or the prickling sensation on the skin at the back of his neck or the voice in his head calling to him to _give him a chance._

Or how familiar his ridiculous name was.

So before MJ went out, Peter snatched the cup from her with an apologetic wince and wrote down his number.

The feeling stopped. He’d touched the back of his neck, confused, the tingling dulled to normalcy.

And now he was staring at his phone, at a loss.

“Peter!” 

MJ’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts and away from his phone screen. His hands fumbled as he shoved it in his pocket. 

“Yeah, what’s up?” he asked breathlessly, combing a hand through his hair.

She strode into the kitchen and jabbed a thumb over her shoulder. “You gave that guy your number?”

Peter’s dumbfounded silence spoke volumes.

“I'll take that as a yes.”

Peter put his face in his hands. “I don’t know what I was thinking,” he groaned, his voice muffled behind his hands.

“I think you _weren’t_ thinking,” MJ supplied, not unhelpfully but it certainly wasn’t what Peter wanted to hear. (She was good at doing that.)

She hopped up on the counter. “I think maybe your brain was in the backseat and your dick was behind the wheel.”

Peter looked up at her, utterly scandalized. “ _MJ!”_

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

Peter opened his mouth and floundered for words. “It’s not—that’s _not why—”_

MJ just kept nodding. It was kind of condescending but also she was right. He had absolutely had a Jesus Take The Wheel moment, except where Jesus was his dick. Not the most eloquent analogy, but certainly the most accurate.

Peter gave up making excuses and buried his face in his hands again, dragging them down his face in exasperation.

“I’m so _confused_.”

“I gathered that,” MJ said. “A piece of advice?”

What did he have to lose? It wasn’t like Peter had any dignity left to speak of after giving his number to Wade. “Fine.”

“Don’t overthink it so much.”

“I’m not _overthinking_ ,” Peter pressed.

MJ just raised her eyebrows at him.

Peter sighed. “Okay, okay, I won’t.”

(He still was. Why the hell did he feel like he knew that name?)

MJ gave him a sharp thumbs-up, not looking at him as she slid off the counter.

”I just—”

MJ turned around slowly, and Peter couldn’t see her but he could hear her eyes rolling.

“I just don’t do this very often,” Peter confessed, very sincerely and _very_ awkwardly. “Or ever.”

MJ patted him on the shoulder. “I know.”

She came and leaned beside Peter on the wall. “For five extra bucks out of the tip jar, I’ll give you one more piece of advice.”

Peter looked at her. “Is it that obvious that I have no idea what I’m doing?”

“Who does?” she asked, scoffing. “Everyone is just pretending to know what they’re doing basically all the time. Like right now, _I’m_ pretending to know what the hell I’m talking about.”

MJ nudged him with her elbow and Peter laughed despite himself.

She kicked off the wall, her shoe leaving a black scuff. “And anyways, you have nothing to worry about. He’s obviously super into your whole thing.”

Peter blinked. “My—my thing? What thing?”

_Okay, I know I'm not in this part but I reeeeally wanna make a dick joke right now oh fuck now I understand FOMO—_

MJ gestured at him vaguely. “Y’know. The whole awkward and kinda snarky nerdy thing. But like in a blushing, virginal way.”

Peter laughed falsely and made a face. “Wha—MJ. I’m not a...like a—“

MJ stared him down. “You can lie to yourself all you want, Parker, but I see riiiight through you.”

She was right.

Peter stood against the wall, feeling defeated and somehow more confused than before, as MJ breezed past him, ruffling his hair.

“Now come on. Let’s go make some white girls pumpkin spice lattes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> confused? so is peter. stick around to see what he does.
> 
> thanks for reading my dudes comment bc i’m desperate for attention and also to feel something!


	3. actual conversations

6:08 PM

peter (cute butt!)

**_so do u give out ur number to every full 10 who walks into ur coffee shop??_ **

Read 12:42 PM.

Ouchie.

Wade was not staring at his phone, wishing that Peter would text back. He was also not watching High School Musical 2 and wearing Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle boxers and nothing else.

Of course he had to go and scare him off.

“We could’ve been Troy and Gabriella,” Wade whined, falling sideways onto his couch. “Obviously I'm Troy but lemme tell ya I’m feelin’ like a real Gabriella right now.”

_ Are you kidding? You’re a total Sharpay. _

“Fuck off and let me wallow,” he groaned into his pillow, patting blindly around for the remote so he could fast forward to  _ Gotta Go My Own Way.  _ “And Buzzfeed begs to differ.”

Just then, almost as if it were written in for dramatic tension, his phone dinged.

Wade bolted up, flinging the remote somewhere behind him. He scrambled for his phone and sent up a silent prayer to Ariana Grande that it was Peter.

6:10 PM

peter (cute butt!)

**_so do u give out ur number to every full 10 who walks into ur coffee shop??_ **

**_Only the ones who manage to successfully annoy it out of me :-)_ **

Wade grinned, about to zip off a reply when he noticed the bubbles that indicated Peter was still typing. He waited. Then:

**_Sorry it took me so long to reply, just got off._ **

**_u already got off???_ **

**_baby thats what im here for_ **

**_;)))))_ **

**_Wow._ **

**_Already making me regret giving you my number I see_ **

**_u wont be regretting it by the time im done with u_ **

Wade could imagine Peter’s embarrassed face in his mind’s eye.

**_and complain alllll u want sweetheart_ ** **_but i saw u staring at me_ **

**_thinkin ur sly_ **

**_my eyes are up HERE sir_ **

Wade didn’t see any bubbles and it was taking Peter a minute to reply, so he jumped.

**_so are u doing anything tonight_ **

**_by any chance_ **

**_???_ **

**_bc i could go for some breakfast for dinner_ **

**_but it’s like way too sad to eat breakfast for dinner alone_ **

**_and also i would rly like to see u again_ **

**_no homo_ **

No bubbles. Wade started to panic.

**_I would also really like to see you again_ **

**_Much to my surprise_ **

Wade had to strongly resist the urge to do a touchdown dance in his boxers.

**_OMG ok sassy mcclapback!!!_ **

**_also u should see how cool im being about this rn im not even freaking out or anything_ **

**_ok u got me i am freaking out ur so cute lol_ **

**_can i send u a car or something_ **

**_Send me a car?_ **

**_Like to have????_ **

**_lmaoooo no like a car to come pick u up_ **

**_wanna get u over here asap sugar_ **

**_although if u asked i would probably buy u a car i have poor impulse control and an incurable case of dickbrain_ **

**_Oh my God. Of course._ **

**_I’m so embarrassed_ **

**_Sorry I don’t do this very often, haha_ **

Something in Wade’s heart positively melted. Wade was about to type out a quick and comforting message before Peter zinged back with:

**_An incurable case of dickbrain???_ **

**_That sounds hard._ **

**_oh its hard alright_ **

**_if u know what i mean_ **

**_im talking about my dick_ **

**_Hesitating to send you my address because I don’t want to encourage this kind of behavior_ **

**_come on u walked RIGHT into that one_ **

**_ok please don’t take it out on me_ **

**_i cant control wade jr_ **

**_he controls ME_ **

**_it’s a_ **

**_dictatorship_ **

**_:D_ **

**_Oh that was bad_ **

**_Give me one good reason I should give you my address?_ **

**_what if my one good reason is wade jr_ **

Five minutes passed. No reply from Peter. Okay, he was serious then.

Wade pulled up his Uber app as a sort of self-fulfilling prophecy.

**_okay okay_ **

**_TWO reasons_ **

**_**_1\. my sparkling personality_ ** _ **

**_2\. i make a mean all-you-can-eat breakfast buffet_ **

Read 6:36 PM.

After a few sweet moments of absolute peril, Peter texted him his address.

Wade did a touchdown dance as he called the Uber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> confused? no way! same here! stick around for the mysterio to unfold. i mean mystery. shit. haha.
> 
> thanks for reading :-) comments make wade jr happy :-)


	4. hell is other people (sometimes)

God, Peter was nervous.

He was fidgeting anxiously in the back of the car, his palms sweaty and his heart thundering in his chest. He tried to slow his breathing, solve some math equations in his head to keep him focused on something logical. 

He couldn’t shut off that _feeling._ Like something was crawling up his spine and dancing circles on his bull vertebrae.

Yet, as uncomfortable as the feeling was, it wasn’t a bad feeling. It wasn’t the inkling that something was off _,_ and it wasn’t the sense that Wade might murder him at his apartment tonight (yes it was a real thing, he’d read articles about it). 

And what really broke Peter’s brain about it was that he couldn’t explain how he _knew_ these things.

But there was something in him that was telling him to hang on. Just stick around and see.

And then there was the physical aspect of it all.

He couldn’t ignore that the nerves he felt buzzing through his entire body were because of Wade. The way he looked, the way _he_ looked at Peter, the things he _said…_

Peter wanted it but he didn’t know if he could follow through.

Too many thoughts in his head. He tried some more equations, to sort through the periodic table in his head, anything. None of it was working.

So he settled for mindlessly scrolling through his phone while uncontrollably bouncing his right leg. He looked back at his and Wade’s texts.

**_Oh my God. Of course._ **

**_I’m so embarrassed_ **

**_Sorry I don’t do this very often, haha_ **

It was only a lie by omission. Not that that was any better, but still.

Peter felt _so_ stupid. What did he think was going to happen tonight? He was just going to _hang out_ at some hot stranger’s apartment and what? Eat breakfast with him?

It sounded even stupider when he thought it through.

Even stupider _still_ when he pored over his messages with Wade; it was clearly on _his_ mind. Dude couldn’t shut up about his dick.

6:50 PM

wade wilson

**_how weird is it if im actively watching ur uber on my phone like its the papa johns pizza delivery tracker_ **

**_also: pancakes or waffles_ **

Wait. He was being serious about the breakfast thing? That calmed something in Peter. He felt, at least momentarily, like he could breathe again.

He glanced at the name in his phone screen and worried the inside of his lip with his teeth. Even from the moment he first heard it in the coffeeshop, it felt almost tauntingly familiar. 

He set the thought aside. He had too much on his mind to fret over a passing instance of déjà vu.

**_Ooh. Tough call._ **

**_Pancakes??_ **

**_Whatever’s easiest for you!_ **

**_pancakes it is sweetums_ **

**_omgggg ur almost here!!!_ **

**_(sry my apartment is kind of a mess atm)_ **

**_((i call it the bermuda rectangle))_ **

**_(((anything that enters these walls is unlikely to ever be seen again)))_ **

**_That’s really comforting to hear after the Uber just drove away_ **

**_omg_ **

**_!!!!!!!!!_ **

**_ill buzz u in_ **

Peter was fixing his hair in the reflective surface of the door when the lock buzzed open for him, startling him more than he cared to admit in his already on-edge state.

**_apartment 6E baby_ **

Taking the stairs all the way up to Wade’s floor gave Peter a nice excuse to feel out of breath and shaky when he knocked on the door. It was definitely the stairs. And not anything else.

Yep.

He hoped he looked okay.

“Come _iii-iiiin!”_ Wade sing-songed from inside.

Peter took a deep breath, muttered an encouraging “you can do this” to himself, and pushed the door open.

* * *

Wade was mid-pancake flip when he heard the door open.

“Hello?” Peter called, his voice measured. The door clicked gently behind him.

“In the kitchen, gorgeous,” Wade called back, waving his spatula at Peter, hoping he could see it around the corner.

“Sorry I couldn't make it to the door,” he added absentmindedly, “I didn’t wanna burn the…”

_Hoooly Batman, shitballs._

Peter was 1) in his apartment and 2) looking absolutely fucking picturesque. He was wearing a rusty red sweatshirt with a few holes worn into it (from use, he could tell—Peter wasn’t the kind of guy to buy a pre-distressed item of clothing) over a blue collared shirt, a pair of jeans, and matching red high tops.

Wade didn’t wanna think about how well those jeans must fit in the back.

_Yeah you do. Fuckin’ pervert._

“...Hell- _o.”_

Peter laughed but made a face. “Seriously?”

Wade simply whistled. “Seriously. I'd ditch the pancakes and bend you over the counter right now if I weren't so hell-bent on wooing you first.”

He didn’t miss the way Peter’s eyes widened momentarily before he turned away from Wade to start taking off his shoes. And _oh fuck_ he turned just enough for Wade to catch a glimpse of his ass and it was infinitely better than even his imagination had conjured up. He had an ass like a fucking marble statue.

Wade managed to tear his eyes away from the amazing specimen of a man in his apartment long enough to plop another finished (almost burnt) pancake onto a plate stacked high with an exorbitant amount of pancakes. He turned over his shoulder after he poured a fresh cup of batter into the pan, happy to see that Peter had made his way to the couch and sat down. 

Wade clapped his hands together. “Chocolate chip, blueberry, or funfetti?”

Peter raised his eyebrows at him. “What is _funfetti?”_

“Nothing weird, relax, I’m not gonna jizz in your pancakes,” Wade quipped, brushing him off. “It’s rainbow sprinkles.”

Peter snorted.

“Hey, don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” Wade continued, pointing his spatula at Peter.

“Okay then,” Peter shrugged. “Blow my mind.”

Wade smirked, twirling his spatula deftly in hand. “Oh, I intend to.”

Peter watched Wade from behind, listening to him hum something under his breath. He felt like he’d heard him hum that before. Maybe at the coffee shop.

_Wait a minute. Are we doing split-character POV now?_

Oh. He was humming _Gotta Go My Own Way._ That’s what it was.

_This just feels clumsy. Not the writer’s best move._

Peter stood up to shake off the tingle creeping up his neck. “Um. You need any help in there?”

“No, no, I got this!” Wade assured him. He glanced over his shoulder at Peter. “Although I certainly wouldn’t mind if you wanted to come over here and keep me company?”

Peter’s mouth fell open. “Oh. Yeah, alright.” 

His heart thrumming, he headed over to the kitchen and tentatively leaned on the counter beside Wade.

Wade looked over at him, smiling softly. “Hi.”

Peter felt something grab at his heart and flutter in his stomach.

“Hi,” he repeated, his voice sounding a ghost of its usual self, his already rapid heart rate quickening by the millisecond.

Something had shifted in the air between them. Peter could feel it. Wade’s eyes were darker than usual and he wasn’t jumping at the chance to fill the silence with a joke. Peter fought the urge to shift forward and close the gap between them, the tingling sensation now a full on electric spark.

Before Peter could do anything, Wade moved away from him, turned off the stove, and set aside his spatula.

_Shoot your shot, man. Knowing him, it might be the only shot you ever get. Also let’s hope this POV swapping isn’t weirding out our audience._

Slowly but suddenly, Wade was crowding Peter against the countertop, his hands on either side of him, effectively boxing him in. Peter took a breath in and forgot how to let it out, trapping the air in his lungs like he was trapped with the small of his back against the cool marble of the counter.

“I know the pancakes aren’t ready and I promised you pancakes,” Wade breathed, his voice low, “but I really want to kiss you right now.”

Peter felt like all his senses had heightened by three thousand, with Wade standing so close to him. All he could do was nod minutely and stare up at Wade, anything else too much with his system on overdrive. “Yeah—yes.”

“Yeah?” Wade's eyes practically lit up.

Peter nodded more vehemently, leaning into Wade’s space. “Please.”

Wade huffed out a breathy laugh. “Well, when you ask so nicely…”

And then Wade was closing in and pressing his mouth to Peter’s. 

Peter's eyes widened and then fluttered shut and he reached out blindly for something, _anything_ to hold and after several moments of indecision he eventually decided on gingerly resting his hands on Wade’s chest.

Meanwhile, fireworks were going off in Wade’s head. 

And heart.

And dick.

_Sweet Celine Dion, how long have we wanted to do this for?_

Wade's eyebrows furrowed.

_This is too good to be true._

Wade waved the thought away and kissed Peter harder, tugging him closer by the waist until Peter bumped against him with a soft, “oh.” He decided to test his luck, creeping a few curious fingers just underneath the hem of Peter’s sweatshirt. Peter shivered.

Wade pulled away from kissing Peter and marveled at him. “Fucking shit,” he half-whispered, half-laughed.

Peter looked at him with wide eyes. Christ, Wade would be so fucked if Peter looked at him like that all the time. “What—what is it?” he asked, pulling at Wade’s shirt.

Wade shook his head. “Nothing, just—“ he withdrew the hand under Peter’s shirt and reached up to tangle his fingers in Peter’s hair, cradling his neck. Peter tilted pliantly into his touch. 

“I _really_ do wanna get to know you, I swear,” Wade said, low and sincere, “but I _hate_ small talk and I don’t wanna stop making out with you ‘cause—“ Wade closed his eyes reverently “—god _damn.”_

“I mean,” Peter said, words almost unmanageable at this point. “Same. Definitely same.”

Then, Wade got a devious idea.

Peter saw Wade get a devious idea.

“Then how about,” Wade suggested slowly, the hand still on Peter’s waist wandering lower, lower, lower, “we do both?”

Peter’s breath caught in his throat a little as Wade’s hand teased at his hip. “I don’t foll- _oh,”_ Peter choked out as Wade pulled him forward and grabbed his ass.

“Like...where you from, Peter?” Wade asked casually, and Peter nearly lost his mind when Wade _picked him up,_ gently guiding Peter’s legs around his waist, and started carrying him towards the couch.

“Queens,” Peter managed somehow, “born and raised.”

Wade hummed and brushed his nose across Peter’s neck. Peter squirmed in his arms.

“Uh—what about you?”

“Regina, Saskatchewan,” Wade said proudly, grinning up at Peter, “Canada. A terrible place to raise a family but you can probably guess that by the name.”

Before Peter could respond Wade was kissing him again, his mouth soft against Peter’s. 

Wade was an _incredible_ kisser. Peter had kissed other people before, mostly girls, but never had he felt so knocked off his own gravitational pull by simply kissing someone. Kissing Wade was dizzying, and Peter secretly balked at the realization that for all his talk, Wade could really put his money where his mouth was. Literally. Peter wrapped his arms around Wade’s neck, a few fingers scraping at the base of his skull where his hair was buzzed short and felt like sandpaper. 

Without any warning, Wade toppled onto the couch.

Peter made some kind of ungodly squeaking noise as Wade landed on top of him.

“So what’s keeping you in the city?” Wade asked breathlessly, barely pulling away long enough to get the words out before crashing his mouth back to Peter’s.

Peter was still wrapped around him like a koala. He pulled back and Wade took it as an opportunity to press feverish kisses down the side of his throat.

“I’m a— _uh—_ a sophomore. At Columbia— _ah.”_ Peter writhed under Wade’s tall, broad body pressing him into the couch.

“Ooh,” Wade’s voice vibrated against his skin, “a smart boy. What’s your major?”

“Biochemistry,” Peter panted, “ _oh—_ technically biochemical engineering. With a minor in journalism.”

Wade pulled away, leaning over Peter. “That is so hot.”

“Congratulations on being the first person alive to think so,” Peter replied. Wade bit down a smirk as he noticed the way Peter was trying to pull him back in without looking desperate.

“What about you? Why New York?”

“Weeell…” Wade started, catching his fingers on the hem of Peter’s sweatshirt. “I was in the Army. Special Forces. For a while.”

“O-oh. Wow,” Peter heard himself saying, too focused on Wade’s fingers slipping under his clothes and skating over his sides.

“Dishonorable discharge,” Wade went on, shrugging. “Sort of an It’s-Not-Me-It’s-You situation. Then I relocated here and I all lived happily ever after.”

Wade had very purposefully left out the part about his dead fiancée and the whole killing people for a living thing. He was staring down at Peter, who was looking up at him with the most priceless look on his face; his mouth slightly agape, his lips pink and flushed from kissing Wade, his gorgeous brown eyes looking at him expectantly.

_Plus he’s the only person we know with the balls enough to best us in verbal combat._

Wade couldn’t afford to scare him away.

“So what do you do?” Peter asked. Perfect timing, really. “Now, I mean?”

_Shit. Lie._

Wade opened his mouth and tried to lie, he really did. He was a good liar. Excellent. He was as good at lying as he was at Super Smash Bros. But there was something about Peter that told Wade he didn’t have to sugarcoat anything for him.

“I, uh—” Wade tapped a finger on Peter’s ribs “—I _used_ to—what’s the most PC way to put this…”

When Wade finally spoke, it was very slow.

“...unalive people? For a living?”

A look of confusion flickered across Peter’s face before Wade saw the moment he realized what that meant. 

“Oh,” was all Peter said. 

Wade nodded, awkwardly withdrawing his hands from Peter’s shirt and sitting back a little. “Yup.”

Peter could feel the cogs whirring in his brain. This was...certainly not ideal. Killing people was bad. Objectively. And Wade killed people.

So by the transitive property, Wade was bad. Peter should not be here.

But for some reason he was staring at Wade, still lying absolutely prone underneath him, and something wasn’t computing.

Peter swallowed. “Explain.”

Wade blinked down at him. “Bossy,” he said bluntly, then shook his head. “Sorry. Okay. Yeah. Uh. Like I said, I _used_ to. Operative word: used. And I only ever offed the bad guys—goons slash bosses slash Agent Smith from the Matrix types.”

Wade ran his mouth when he was nervous, too.

“But I had a wake-up call, I guess. I’m…” he trailed off, for the first time not looking at Peter.

Peter waited as Wade looked for the words.

“Trying to be better,” Wade finished, and Peter was suddenly acutely aware of the intimacy of this moment, somehow more intimate than Wade having his hands all over Peter’s body.

Peter propped himself up on his elbows, wanting Wade to look at him again. “Why?” he asked.

Wade raised an eyebrow. Peter noticed the scar running through it for the first time. 

_Christ, he knows how to push_ all _our buttons, doesn’t he._

Wade thought about it for a minute. It was a good question. Why try to be better?

He had known the answer when he’d said it. And now? It was completely escaping him.

He couldn’t remember.

“I don’t know,” Wade said blankly, still trying to find the answer in the deep recesses of his mind. It was like something had been uprooted there.

Peter’s spine tingled. It caught him by surprise; it was undoubtedly the same feeling he’d had before, but it was telling him something different.

It was telling Peter to believe him.

Peter reached out and touched Wade’s shoulder (his bicep, really. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t wanna feel it) and that seemed to shake him out of the trance he’d been in.

“I don’t mean to pry,” Peter said, “it’s just. I’m kind of in a vulnerable position here, and I was definitely already a little worried that you were gonna murder me tonight—”

“—that would already be a better first date than most of the ones I’ve been on—”

“—and I just felt like I maybe deserved a _little_ explanation before I let you stick your hands up my shirt again?”

Wade grinned at him mischievously. “Not scared of me yet?” He pitched his voice low and leaned closer to Peter.

Peter fixed him with a look. “10 minutes ago you were making me pancakes with rainbow sprinkles in them and humming High School Musical 2.”

“I also love Hello Kitty and I have all of Carly Rae Jepsen’s albums on vinyl,” Wade added conspiratorially. “And I don’t even own a record player.”

Wade’s joke got the best of him and Peter laughed.

Wade cracked a gentle smile before setting a hand on the center of Peter’s chest.

“That doesn’t mean I’m not bad news, kid,” he murmured, frighteningly sincere. Peter looked into Wade’s eyes and they were so soft it made him tremble.

“And _I’m_ not an idiot,” Peter challenged. “Biochemical engineering, remember?”

Wade made a vague noise of sexual frustration and Peter swatted his arm. _God,_ his bicep was firm.

“If I can maintain a 4.0 GPA at Columbia, I’m pretty sure I can decide for myself whether or not you’re gonna be a bad influence on me.”

Something twinkled in Wade’s eyes. “Oh, I’m definitely gonna be a bad influence on you,” he purred, leaning closer to Peter until they were sharing air.

So Peter tilted his chin up defiantly. “Prove it.”

_Oh, shit. Did he just get the last word in?_

He did.

And, ever the sore loser, Wade shoved Peter’s sweatshirt up his chest and kissed him stupid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> confused? me too, cause i only have the end written from here!!! feel free to let me know what you’d like to see from the rest of the fic, i have a rough plan but i’m more than happy to indulge any and all of your sickest desires. 
> 
> comments make me feel like i have purpose. thanks for reading and peace out mofos!!!!


	5. are we real or do we dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAHAHA SORRY IT'S BEEN FOREVER. falling in and out of love with writing right now but here's this chapter and i hope you like it <333

“How you doin’, sweetheart?” Wade asked gently.

Peter shifted. “Good.”

“You want more?”

Peter hesitated. “I don’t know if I can, I’m already so full—”

“That’s okay.”

“But I want  _ more _ ,” Peter moaned.

“Are you sure? You don’t have to.”

Peter nodded vigorously and Wade started to move. 

“Wait—no, it’s too much, I need to stop…”

“Of course—”

“It was  _ so good,  _ though—”

“Thanks, hot stuff. So,” Wade stood up and stretched, “what’s the verdict: did I blow your mind or what?”

Peter fought a smile and reluctantly admitted, “consider my mind blown.”

Wade made a surprised face like he had just won an Oscar before collecting his and Peter’s plates, sticky with maple syrup and melted whipped cream from their pancake feast.

_ Ha ha. You thought they were having sex when really they were just eating pancakes. Silly readers, we don’t give it up that easy! We’re not that kind of girl. Get your mind out of the gutter. _

Peter sank into the couch, groaning. “Ugh, I’m gonna have to unbutton my pants. I’m so full.”

Wade turned over his shoulder and winked at Peter as he set the plates in the sink. “Easier access for me,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Peter blushed but scoffed to cover it up. “As if. I have the world’s biggest food baby right now.”

Wade scoffed in return. “Uh, okay, Cher Horowitz. You must really be Clueless, ‘cause you have abs for days.”

Wade flopped on the couch next to Peter, and for a second Peter was worried he might go flying like a seesaw gone wrong. Wade yawned dramatically, draping an arm across Peter’s shoulders.

“Soooo,” Wade drawled, “it’s getting late.”

Peter looked anywhere but at Wade. “Yyyep.”

“And I would absolutely love for you to spend the night, but—”

“Okay.”

Wade’s mouth was still open, mid-sentence. He closed it and tilted his head to look at Peter.

“Seriously? Shit, I thought I was gonna have to give you the hard sell!” Wade sounded genuinely surprised. He laughed, squeezing Peter’s shoulder.

“Oh,” Wade remembered, his voice dropping, “but I do have a toll.”

Peter stiffened against Wade’s side. Oh shit. This was it, this was when the night turned sour and Wade told him he could either blow him or fuck off and call himself a cab home.

“You have to be the big spoon.”

Peter breathed a sigh of relief that turned into a laugh. “Oh thank God, I thought you were gonna say something  _ way  _ worse.”

Wade quirked an eyebrow. “Dare I ask?”

“I dunno!” Peter confessed sheepishly, “you phrased it weird, I thought you were tell me I had to like, jerk you off to spend the night or something.”

“Whoa!” Wade threw his hands in the air and leaned away from Peter. “Peter, I need you to know that I would never take advantage of you unless I had your  _ consent _ to take advantage of you. And an established safeword.”

“Kinky,” Peter said, shoving Wade’s shoulder.

“You don’t know the  _ half  _ of it, lover boy,” Wade whispered in his ear. Goosebumps broke out all over Peter’s skin.

“Okay!” Wade clapped his hands together and stood abruptly. Peter leaned awkwardly to the side and almost fell into the space Wade had previously been occupying. “I’m gonna take care of the dishes. My bedroom is thataway if you’d like to snoop through my shit and double-check that I’m not gonna murder you in the night.”

“Uh, Wade?” Peter asked, still sitting cross-legged on the couch. “One thing.”

“Yes?” Wade looked down at him and tried not to get all warm and fuzzy inside; Peter’s hair was a mess, his jeans undone, his shirt rumpled and unbuttoned at the top. Wade could see where he had left gentle marks on the skin of his neck and it made him feel sort of feral and sort of disgustingly protective.

“I’m not gonna...have sex with you tonight.” 

Wade could barely open his mouth before words started quickly tumbling out of Peter’s. 

“Not that I don’t wanna have sex with you—because I do—uh, I just—”

“Whoa whoa whoa, Peter, slow your roll, champ.” Wade held up his hands in front of him, like Peter was a scared deer. “I’m—well, first of all I’m  _ incredibly  _ flattered that you would want to do the nasty with li’l ol’ me. But second of all, I don’t give it up that easy. I’m not that kind of girl.”

_ You stole my joke! Asshole. _

“And don’t get me wrong, I would be  _ more  _ than honored to stick it in you,” Wade went on, taking a careful step towards Peter, “but I was really thinking tonight would be more of a lay-in-bed-cuddling-and-bantering-‘til-the-sun-comes-up kinda deal.”

Peter only wanted to crawl into a hole and die a little bit. So he just nodded at Wade mutely, trying desperately to play it cool despite the fact that his “cool” had never really existed in the first place.

He stared at Wade, who was helplessly good-looking and staring _back_ at Peter and no one had ever stared at Peter like that in his life. And in addition to the jumbled feeling inside his stomach, there was something else still tugging at the top of his spine. It was like all his senses pushed to overdrive when he was around Wade. He couldn’t explain it.

“Cool,” he was suddenly saying, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Coooool.”

Wade looked at him like he was a kitten sliding all over an ice-skating rink. Like he was simultaneously adorable and hilarious.

“You are something else,” Wade said reverently. He pulled his eyes off of Peter and looked towards the sink, debating. “Fuck the dishes. I’ll do ‘em in the morning. Now get your sweet ass into the bedroom before I change my mind.”

\---

_ Wade was sitting on a ledge. _

_ Wade was sitting on a ledge on the roof of a tall building. _

_ Wade was sitting on a ledge on the roof of a tall building, a burrito in one hand and a Diet Coke in the other, and three warm tacos in a bag to his right.  _

_ He was wearing unfamiliar clothes; some kind of skintight red and black spandex number with holsters and guns strapped all over his person. His legs were dangling over the side of the building, kicking gently over the dark streets of the city. _

_ Wade took a bite of his burrito and realized he was wearing a mask, rolled up over his mouth so he could eat. He was about to reach up and peel it all the way off when he heard a voice behind him. _

_ “What the hell, Wade? I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” _

_ Wade turned over his shoulder to see another masked, suited figure jogging across the roof towards him. He rolled up his mask as he ran, only halfway up his face to match Wade’s. _

_ “I’m playing hard to get, Spidey, is it not obvious? I can make it more obvious.” He took a loud sip of his Coke. “Tacos?” _

_ The voice was his, and he was talking, but he wasn’t in control. All he could do was sit back and let the scene unfold. _

_ The figure sighed, crossing his arms. “You can’t keep buying me off like this, y’know.” _

_ “What do you mean?” Wade asked, mouth full of burrito. “Tacos are the perfect tradeoff for an apology.” _

_ The figure paused behind him and Wade waved the bag at him tantalizingly. “You know you waaaant iiiit,” he sing-songed, dangling it in front of his face until the figure begrudgingly snatched it away from him. _

_ “Fine! Fine.” He sighed and climbed over the ledge, sidling up to Wade. “I am shocked that I haven’t pushed you off one of these buildings yet.” _

_ “Mmm. I love it when you talk dirty,” Wade cooed, and the figure elbowed him in the side. It stung badly. “Ouch. Gunshot wound.” _

_ “Oops,” the figure deadpanned. _

_ They sat in silence for a minute, eating their food, a warm sense of familiarity between them like a blanket resting around his shoulders. Wade didn’t like it. _

_ “Yikes. Too much silence. Not enough talking. My writer needs to get her shit together,” Wade said, cutting through the quiet air. _

_ “Oh, your writer’s a “she” now, huh?” his friend asked, humoring Wade. “Very progressive of you.” _

_ “Yeah, I’m woke as fuck,” Wade shrugged. _

_ “Ew. No one says woke anymore, old man.” _

_ “Jesus Christ, then what  _ do  _ they say?” Wade asked, exasperated. “It better also start with a ‘w’ because otherwise my chance to get my new nickname to catch on is dead.” _

_ “What’s your new nickname?” _

_ “Woke Wilson.” _

_ The figure beside him laughed so hard he spit out the bite of taco in his mouth. He then gasped in abject horror, most likely at the realization that his chewed-up mush was going to land on some poor, tired, unsuspecting New Yorker’s head--and then he started laughing again. _

_ Wade watched him with a disbelieving smile. “All the jokes that I make, and you choose to laugh so hard you spit at arguably the stupidest one?” _

_ “Oh, shut up,” he wheezed, nudging Wade again. His healing gunshot wound throbbed but he didn’t say anything this time. He was too fixated on the smile below the rolled-up mask on his friend’s face. _

_ “I made Spider-Man laaaa-aaugh,” Wade sung mockingly into his ear. _

_ “I’m still mad at you,” Spider-Man (weird name) retorted, pointing in his face. _

_ “Whatever. I bought you food. That makes us even.” _

_ They sat there, lingering in the welcome levity they’d managed to find for two seconds, before Spider-Man suddenly sat up ramrod-straight.  _

_ “Wade, we have to go,” was all he said before a gunshot sounded to their left. _

_ “Oh my Gooood I love it when you get all Spidey-sensey on me!” Wade fangirled as Peter swung away. “It’s like That’s So Raven but superhero version! And like,  _ way  _ meaner.” _

_ Wade stood up and started running to the side of the roof, following behind Spider-Man as he swung through the city, and jumped off the roof. _

_ Before he could stick the landing on the next building over _

\---

Wade woke up.

He sat up in his bed, his heart pounding like he had really just tried to jump off a building.

What a weird fucking dream. The most creepily vivid dream he’d ever had.

_ Almost like it’s a memory or something. Almost like we wouldn’t have a story if the voice in your head stopped being so fucking cryptic. _

He looked over at Peter, who was not there.

_ Oh, fuck. _

“Oh, fuck,” Wade mumbled, tossing the covers off of his legs and climbing out of his bed. “Peter?”

Wade shuffled barefoot into his living room, half-expecting Peter to have packed up and left, to find him staring out the window in his boxers and one of Wade’s t-shirts. Wade observed him for a breath; not in a creepy way, but in the way of wanting to take a picture of this moment so it lasted forever.

_ Gayyyyyyy. _

Peter looked lost deep in thought, like he was trying to solve the most complicated math problem known to man. His eyebrows were drawn in tight, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

Wade could get used to waking up to Peter in various weird spots in his apartment at odd hours of the night.

“Hey,” Wade said softly, trying not to spook him.

Peter turned over his shoulder and looked at Wade curiously. “Hi.”

“...Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Peter lied, and it was only very obvious, “just couldn’t sleep.”

Wade nodded, trying to read Peter to gage whether approaching him was the right move or not.

But he didn’t have to, because suddenly Peter was padding towards him and burying his face in Wade’s chest, his arms wrapping tightly around his midsection. Wade stumbled back a step, not anticipating Peter’s sudden weight but managing to counter-balance as he circled his arms around Peter protectively.

“I get this really weird feeling when I’m around you,” Peter said, his voice muffled.

“It’s called a boner, Pete,” Wade murmured into his hair, and Peter kicked him gently in the shin.

“That’s not what I mean,” he said, a tired bite to his voice. “It’s like...it’s whatever. It’s just weird.”

“No, no, tell me,” Wade whined, carding a hand through Peter’s hair.

“I had a weird dream.”

“Like a—”

“Not that kind of dream.”

“Sorry. I’ll stop.”

Peter sighed, stepping away from Wade (much to Wade’s dissatisfaction. “It freaked me out. Like I don’t know what’s real anymore.”

Wade frowned, his tiny heart breaking at the look on Peter’s face. 

“If it makes you feel any better,” Wade offered gently, “I had a really weird dream too.”

“...If this is a sex joke, Wade—”

“I’m serious, I swear,” Wade laughed, making his way to the couch and flopping back on it, opening his arms for Peter to join him. “Sit on my lap like I’m a sexy Santa and listen to me.”

“Hard pass.”

“Come on, lemme hold you,” Wade waved his arms at Peter who, after a moment of deliberation, complied. He grabbed a pillow and drew it close to his chest, curling into Wade’s side and pressing his nose into his neck.

“So I was on the roof of like, this hundred-story building.”

Peter looked up at him, eyes wide. “What?”

“I know, right? And I think I was in a fight or something with this guy in a spandex suit which sounds weird but,” Wade whistled, “he had a  _ slammin’  _ bod and an ass that wouldn’t quit.”

Peter was nearly vibrating next to him, the feeling of glitch-in-the-matrix multiplying by seven million.

It was the same dream he’d had.

“His name was like. Spider-Man, or something?”

Peter’s stomach twisted.

Wade laughed. “But I brought him food and then he was fine. Oh! And  _ I  _ was wearing a spandex suit, too. Wish I could’ve seen my ass in it. And then I jumped off a building.”

Wade looked down at him. “Weird, right?”

Peter nodded, tense. “Yeah. Weird.”

It was the same dream.

Peter  _ was  _ Spider-Man.

And apparently, Wade Wilson was the mystery man in the red and black suit.

Wade pulled Peter closer, his arm draped across his shoulders, and Peter squeezed his eyes shut. He was having a hard time parsing his thoughts into coherent sentences because right now all that was running through his mind were various expletives and the words  _ this isn’t real. _

His skin crawled. It was like he was trapped in a giant fishbowl and someone’s face was pressed to the glass, watching his every move.

Peter shuddered into Wade’s side. If this wasn’t real then what  _ was  _ it? Peter had to have existed before Wade. He had friends, family, a job, a hard-earned spot in the sophomore class of an Ivy League school. It was too complex to be fabricated. All those memories —

Peter blinked up at Wade, who had fallen asleep. He thought back to a moment earlier in the evening, when Wade had told him he was trying to be better and Peter had asked him why. Peter played that moment over and over in his head, scanning Wade’s face in his mind’s eye and remembering the tingling sensation he’d felt, like all of his senses were coursing with a gentle electric pulse.

Wade had said  _ I don’t know  _ but it didn’t strike Peter as a casual, dismissive  _ I don’t know  _ that was meant to be accompanied by a shrug and a wave of the hand. It seemed as though Wade had been actively searching for the reason in his brain and, to his own surprise, had come up empty-handed.

Peter tried to dig up some of his own memories. Uncle Ben’s funeral. Junior prom with MJ. That one wedding upstate that Aunt May made him go to with her. Anything.

And maybe it was the fact that his brain was calculating at light speed, or maybe it was that  _ none of this was real _ , but Peter found that those deep recesses of his mind were empty. He had access to the outline of his backstory, but no one had bothered to fill in the blanks.

Peter felt very hollow all of a sudden.

Very hollow and very, very scared.

He looked at Wade and his spine convulsed with that thrill of electricity again, the same feeling he'd had during the dream before he'd heard the gunshot. What had Wade called it again? Spidey-sense?

His spidey-sense was telling him that Wade was the key to figuring out what the hell was happening. And until he figured out what the hell was happening, Wade was the only person he could trust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> confused? who isn't. keep reading to find out what the hap is fuckening. 
> 
> (P.S. anyone spot the easter egg???)

**Author's Note:**

> confused? me too. but it’ll all make sense soon. stay tuned to see where it goes.
> 
> some notes:  
> 1\. i was gonna write wade’s inner monologue as our pals yellow/white boxes from the comics, but seeing as this isn’t a comic and wade kind of adapts to whatever medium you put him in, i changed the boxes to one inner monologue  
> 2\. thanks for reading cool dudes


End file.
